


𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 ( 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘰𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 )

by jupitermoons



Category: Chainsaw Man (Manga)
Genre: 1990s, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hope you enjoy, Kinda, aki best dad, denji go brrrrr, oc is a westaboo, please don’t cry it’s not that sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:36:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupitermoons/pseuds/jupitermoons
Summary: ayumu mori was what some called hopeless. her mind was clouded with fantasies of one day moving to new york city in the one and only united states, spending her days painting and blasting bikini kill in her penthouse apartment. pipe dreams is what everyone called it, silly thoughts she’d let go of in the real world. ayumu didn’t like the real world much.denji didn’t have dreams. well, he did; dreams of eating something besides plain, cold bread every night. dreams of having a life without debt. dreams of having a girlfriend. a hot girlfriend. his fantasies, though, were the simple realities of most teens his age. then, he died.the poor boy was quickly sucked into life as an immortal devil hunter without any real choice. if it was possible, his life had become even worse. dying every day was bad enough, but being put under supervision of an annoying, stuck up prick with loads of emotional baggage? that was borderline torture. well, torture until a pretty girl knocked on his door.ayumu was a dreamer. denji didn’t have a dream. oh, how worlds collide.( disclaimer: the chainsaw man manga nor its plot or characters, that all belongs to tatsuki fujimoto. only ayumu mori belongs to me. )
Relationships: Denji & Original Female Character, Denji/Original Female Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 ( 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘰𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘵 )

“ _That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood_.”

Ayumu Mori understood the words that flooded her ears for the most part. It wouldn’t matter even if she didn’t, though; the steady thump of the beat, crashing drums and blaring guitars was what her mind focused on. Fingers tapping at the air, she moved with the crowd she stood within, shoving and pushing when needed as she neared her apartment.

“ _That girl, she holds her head up so high_.”

Kathleen Hanna’s voice cried from the yellow headphones of her 1983 Walkman. It was old, dingy, and barely usable, but it was a gift from her aunt in America. And if it was from America, there’s no way she wouldn’t use it.

“ _Rebel girl, rebel girl, rebel girl you are the queen of my world_.”

_God_ , she loved this song. _Rebel Girl_ by Bikini Kill was a classic. No matter how many times she listened to it, it never got old. It never made her feel anything less than ready to take on the world. Well, maybe the world was too much; she should probably start with homework.

Amongst the rest of the crowd, Ayumu was an odd sight. Not because of the head nods and finger taps she did, not even because of the outdated device blasting punk music in her ears; no, it was none of that. The Japan street she walked along had been mostly filled with adults, adults who wore plain, modest clothes. Then, there was Ayumu. While still dressed in a school uniform, she managed to stand out with her bobbed black hair and chunky combat boots. Lucky for her, she’d been careful enough that her choice in footwear had slid by pretty smoothly at school. The same couldn’t be said for her spiky hoop earrings she’d nearly gotten in trouble for last week.

Everything she wore she modeled off American fashion. Perhaps her outfit wasn’t all American–this was Japan, after all. She’d like to think it was, though. She’d like to imagine that she was walking in Times Square right now, surrounded by lovely lights and chaos. 

Ayumu’s combat boots hit the ground one after the other on her steady trek. Kawatori Senior High was only a quarter-mile walk from her and her parent’s one-bedroom apartment. The Mori family had never been rich–her mother a waitress at a nearby restaurant and her father a cashier at a Konbini–resulting in the three sharing a rather cramped home. Then again, at least it was close to her school.

Money was almost always on her mind. _Would they make the rent that month? Could she spare a couple yen and pick up a new poster? In the future, would she have enough to start a new life in a country across the sea?_ Now, though, she decided to focus on the song fading in her ears.

Slowly, the large crowd fizzled into nothing but trees and bushes while the somewhat bustling city turned residential. Ayumu slipped her yellow headphones onto her shoulders, still humming lightly. Three flights of stairs and a short walk was all that laid beyond her before she’d be safe in her home.

As she moved, her mind began to wander, thoughts of her future in America filling her head. Ever since she was little her dream had always been to move to the famous country. When she was six, her aunt who lived in America visited her family. While with them, she filled Ayumu’s head with American fantasies, glorifying the life she had until it became the girl’s sole purpose to one day find herself in The United States.

_Would she be able to wear her fishnets to school in America?_ Of course she would; public schools were much laxer there. And maybe the devil problem was better in America. Maybe there were fewer.

_Devils_. God, Ayumu hated them. Everyone hated them. They were supernatural creatures that had started popping up all over the world long ago. Sure, maybe she’d never directly encountered one, but the stories from her neighbor, an official Devil Hunter, were enough for her. So were the pictures.

The News was full of Devils; a Carrot Devil attacking some school children, a Daisy Devil popping up in an old woman’s yard. They were everywhere, always being taken care of by Devil Hunters, those brave enough to take on the task of ridding the world of the disgusting creatures. It took guts, that of which Ayumu didn’t have.

Her key twisted within the lock on her front door with a soft _click_ , and she pushed it open. Her boots and headphones were the first things to come off, her bare feet moving through the home. She didn’t bother announcing her presence; no one was home. No one was _ever_ home. Ayumu sighed, bag falling from her back and onto the kitchen counter. Opening her fridge, she rummaged around for only a moment before finding a strawberry Ramune.

The girl lazily went through the motions of her after-school routine. She switched out her uniform for a black Bratmobile t-shirt–a more recent gift from her aunt–and low waisted jeans. She did what she could with her short hair, pinning it back so that it was out of her eyes. Then, she got to work, pulling everything from her bag in a hurry. It was only the beginning of her second year and she already felt like she was falling behind. She wouldn’t let herself, though; she just needed to study a little harder, right?

_Wrong._ One question equation in and her head was hitting the counter. _Why was math so hard? Why did she need it?_ It wasn’t like she was trying to be some mathematician; she wanted to paint. Turning her head, she looked to the oil painting she’d created months ago that hung right next to the bathroom door.

It was by far her best work; a beautiful starry scene, one that took a long time to perfect. Violets and blues blended and swirled together among the glimmering stars and a crescent moon, creating a breathtaking night sky. The main feature, though, was the ballerina in the foreground of the canvas. While her back was turned from the viewer, you were still able to see the long, airy dress that hung on her body. Flowing silver hair covered her torso, so all you were able to see were the delicate white tufts of the fabric of her skirt. One of her legs stood safely on the ground while the other was outstretched behind her. Her arms reached out towards the moon as if she thought that if she was close enough she might just grab it from the sky. _Arabesque_ was the name Ayumu had chosen for the artwork. She wished she could be the ballerina right now, grasping at the dreamy sky.

Shaking her head, the girl turned back to the mathematics textbook in front of her. She wished this was as easy as painting. She wished she could use a pencil with the same grace and precision as a paintbrush.

A sigh escaped her lips before she took a sip of her soda. Neither of her parents was home to help her, nor would they be back for hours. Suddenly, her lips curled upwards as it hit her; she’d just go bother Aki.

Aki Hayakawa, her Devil Hunter neighbor, must be home by now. He moved in next to them years ago when Ayumu was just a little girl, slowly becoming accustomed to the family until he practically became Ayumu’s babysitter.

Aki liked to pretend that he didn’t care about the Moris. At first, he really didn’t; they were just his neighbors, after all. He wouldn’t let himself get sucked into another happy family, a reminder of the life he’d already lost. Then, Ayumu knocked on his door.

She was little then, ten at the most, crying because there was a bug in the kitchen. Both her parents were out on a quick errand, leaving her alone in the house. The girl was endearing, almost reminding him of his late siblings. He killed the insect and thought that would be the end of it. The next day she was back, knocking on his door to ask him if he wanted to try any of the ‘ _thank you_ ’ Taiyaki she and her father made. Years later and he was still getting knocks on his door almost every day and cooking dinner for her at least twice a week. 

Stuffing everything back into her bag, she put on a simple pair of sneakers and headed out the door, locking it behind her once she stepped out into the hallway. The afternoon sun sat proudly in the sky, still having yet to fall behind the city to allow room for the moon. It was pretty but nothing exquisite.

Ayumu’s fist connected with Aki’s door with four sharp knocks, the same pattern she used every time to tell her it was him. She waited patiently, tugging at the hem of her shirt absentmindedly. Aki could help her, right? Of course, the last time he helped her study it ended in him accidentally breaking the leg of his table out of frustration, but this time it wouldn’t happen. Hopefully.

A smile lit up on Ayumu’s face as the doorknob began to turn. Even if she had just come over for help with schoolwork, seeing Aki was always the highlight of her day. He was something like a big brother to her, always taking care of her when her parents were away. Even her mother and father began to treat him like he was some sort of guardian to her. Ayumu didn’t mind, of course; Aki was always there for her, letting her talk about her feelings or go on silly rants about her hopes and dreams for the future. The thoughts that clouded her head slowly disappeared, though, as the door opened. Whoever was standing in front of her was most certainly not Aki Hayakawa.

The man–no, _boy_ –before her was much shorter than him, even if he did still tower over her five-foot-two frame. Scruffy, unkempt blonde hair sprouted from his head in all different directions. His narrow orange eyes stared at her in confusion, like her knocking on the door was the strangest thing in the world. He held open the door, his posture slouched as he waited for whatever came next.

Ayumu’s mind went blank for a moment before it began to swirl. _Aki didn’t move, right? No, he would tell her if he was moving. Besides, there was no reason for him to move. Was this one of his friends? Never mind, Aki didn’t have friends. Was he alright? Did this guy do something to him? If the time came, could Ayumu take him in a fight?_ Wait–she shouldn't think of that. This guy could be totally harmless. She needed to say something, break the ice. But nothing left her lips.

She searched through her brain for an introduction. _Something clever? No, she’d sound stupid. Funny? What if he didn’t laugh at her joke? A simple ‘Hi, I’m Ayumu Mori,’ could work, right? Well, of course, it could, but that was boring. Then again, why was she putting so much thought into this?_ She just needed to get something out.

Shakily, she held eye contact with the boy, her lips slowly opening. All she needed was a little push, some confidence to get out a few words of greeting. Her feet stayed frozen in place while she took a deep breath. Then, she squeaked out three simple words:

“You’re not Aki.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize if the chapter was short/choppy. i promised it’ll get better as the story goes on; i didn’t have much canon to work with for the prologue, and i tried to make it as interesting as possible without giving away everything. i hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> —jupiter

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: the chainsaw man manga nor its plot or characters, that all belongs to tatsuki fujimoto. only ayumu mori belongs to me.


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